


wanting and having (are two very different things)

by keybird



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha Lambert (The Witcher), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Begging, But this is mostly fluff and porn, Explicit Consent, Geralt thinks he’s funny, Gift Fic, Lambert is the best at handling feelings but it’s a very low bar, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Nesting, Omega Eskel (The Witcher), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Some Eskel Whump, The boys say fuck a lot, poly ship, the boys are bad at communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keybird/pseuds/keybird
Summary: Each year, Eskel felt the emptiness more keenly, faced with intimate knowledge of the things he could never have. The traces of scent that lingered on the shirts he took from his alphas did nothing to stave off the wanting. Each year, Eskel still tried; buried his face in a pitiful nest of stolen clothing as the first gush of slick ran down his thighs.This year was different.A gift for what_about_the_fish, who requested Omega Eskel with Alphas Geralt and Lambert. I hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 18
Kudos: 121





	1. Wanting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [what_about_the_fish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_about_the_fish/gifts).



> The first chapter was trying to be porn, but it grew feelings. The second chapter, of pure fluff and smut, is coming soon. Note that the tags are not exaggerating about the overuse of the word “fuck.” It is egregious, but honestly, Lambert and Geralt are within insult range of each other for almost the entirety of this fic, and all of the witchers are, well, fucking. If you expected anything less I don’t know what to tell you.

Every year, in the middle of spring, Eskel’s heat hit. He’d search out a room with a lock. Make use of the carved phallus at the bottom of his pack. Take himself in hand, maybe. He would pretend, drawing on decades upon decades of witcher stoicism, that he didn’t wish for more. He couldn’t have his alphas, he knew. So he wouldn’t torture himself with _wanting_ them.

Whores were out of the question. Neither Geralt nor Lambert would mind if he took one, and he often did—outside of heats. Yet during the week-and-change each year when his blood boiled and his skin itched with need, the thought of fucking a stranger repulsed him. His heats felt too vulnerable; a vestige of fragile humanity that the trials didn’t touch. A weak point, when every other part of his biology had been hardened and honed for the hunt. His heat was the soft underside he could only share with his brothers, like Lambert’s secret gentleness, or Geralt’s long-buried romanticism. Something too human to risk humans seeing.

Eskel’s hand drifted over the bond marks on either side of his neck. They overlapped with a dozen other scars of claws and blades and fangs, but the omega who wore them could tell them apart with ease. Surprisingly, it had been Lambert who’d initiated this new facet of the relationship between the three. The prickliest of all of them, but in many ways, the boldest. He’d grabbed both of them by the collar when his rut had hit a few winters back, prompting the other two to make token protests while they allowed the youngest wolf to drag them into his bed. Exactly how Lambert had convinced them was lost in the fog of pleasurable memories that followed. Eskel could only be sure that the words had been delivered with that compelling mix of sharp and blunt that never failed to elicit the reaction Lambert wanted. And what he had wanted was _them_ , as improbable, impossible, and ultimately inevitable as that was. So he got them.

Eskel and Geralt hadn’t fucked around since before they’d gone on the path, and neither had ever dared to proposition _Lambert_ , who repelled any attempt at affection like a duck repels water. But they had fit together perfectly; Lambert’s hands bruising Eskel’s hips as Geralt traced reverently down his chest, Geralt fucking roughly into Eskel’s mouth as Lambert stroked the omega to completion, both alphas kissing with violent passion over Eskel’s shoulder while they both sought to wring pleasure from the man pressed between them.

The next year, Eskel had bared his throat for them to bury their teeth into his neck, and they had obliged. Outside of a heat, the feeling had been more pain than pleasure, but the bone-deep satisfaction of being _claimed_ was the same. The alphas’ ruts had synchronized ever since, but Eskel’s heats remained unchanged. Each year, they came too long after the snowmelt, but too soon for them to plan a reunion on the Path. Each year, Eskel felt the emptiness more keenly, faced with intimate knowledge of the things he could never have. The traces of scent that lingered on the shirts he took from his alphas did nothing to stave off the wanting. Each year, Eskel still tried; buried his face in a pitiful nest of stolen clothing as the first gush of slick ran down his thighs.

This year was different.

This year, Eskel is halfway up the stairs with a bundle of pelts when the realization he is _nesting_ strikes like lightning down his spine. He can have his heat in the safety of the keep, build a nest of wool and furs and lay back to let his lovers care for him. He won’t have to worry about nosey innkeepers while he huddles in a corner with a pile of unwashed clothes. He can— he can—

Eskel has a second realization, then: he is crying.

Geralt finds him like that, frozen and watery-eyed on the staircase with furs pooled at his feet. Concern deepens the already almost-constant furrow between the White Wolf’s brows. “Eskel, what—“

“My heat, Geralt. I—it started. Or it will, soon. And I, I don’t know, I—“ Eskel’s breath is coming faster, too fast, and _fuck_ , he should be happy, why is he blubbering like a child again, when—

“Okay. Okay, that’s—good? Let’s get you to your room. Here, I’ll take some of these furs. Should I get Lambert? I can get Lambert.” Geralt rambles the entire way to Eskel’s door, and as terrible as he is at providing comfort, it‘s comforting nonetheless to know that he isn’t the only one feeling wrong-footed in the wake of what should be a pleasant surprise. But when Geralt drops the pelts on the bed and goes to make good on his promise of finding Lambert, Eskel stops him at the door with a tight grip on the wrist.

“Stay. Please. Just, I can’t... I don’t think I can let you out of my sight, now that I finally have you. I want Lambert, too, but I _can’t_ be alone even if it means I’ll get you both, and—“

Geralt’s eyes are soft, the keen falcon-gold of them now looking more like melted butter, and that infuriating, adorable little smirk spreads over his face. “I could just yell for him, you know. I’m sure he’d come running, for such a worthy cause.”

“Oh,” Eskel says, his voice small. His embarrassment can’t grow too large, though, with Geralt tracing the thumb of his captured hand against the heel of Eskel’s palm.

“Oh,” Geralt agrees, brightly, before hollering, “Lambert! Get down here, you fuck, Eskel wants you!”

“Eskel can fucking come here himself, then!” That‘s their Lambert, alright.

“His heat’s starting, you damned oaf!” The gleam of mischief on Geralt’s face is unmistakable. “Get your pasty ass down here before we start without you!”

“Why—“ a door slams, followed by the sound of something crashing to the floor— “didn’t you fucking _lead_ with that, pretty boy? I’m not— _ow, fuck_ —a mind reader!” Lambert arrives, practically sliding down the banister, face flushed and clothes askew. Eskel briefly wonders what he’d been doing, but given that he came from the alchemy lab, it‘s probably better for his health if he doesn’t know.

The younger alpha is quick to crowd up against Eskel, pulling him into a hug while still grumbling about Geralt having, objectively, the pastiest ass out of all of them. Still, his hand is gentle on Eskel’s nape as he guides the older witcher to nose against his throat. Eskel melts gratefully into his hold, the potent _nearness_ of his alpha’s scent chasing away tension he hadn’t even noticed himself carrying. And as always, it is Lambert’s casual possessiveness that spurs Geralt into realizing what he could have been doing all along. When the younger alpha steps aside, remaining pressed against Eskel’s flank in a move endearingly characteristic of the tenderness he’d never admit to feeling, Geralt leans in for his own embrace. The white-haired alpha tentatively tucks his chin over Eskel’s head, chest rumbling with a quiet purr as he breathes in the smell of his omega’s hair. Wreathed in the scents of both his alphas, Eskel sways on weak knees, staying on his feet only by virtue of Lambert’s supporting grip.

“Let’s get you comfortable before your heat hits, yeah?” Lambert murmurs, guiding the omega towards the enormous pile of blankets and pelts he had been collecting. He must’ve been in preheat for a few days without noticing, Eskel thinks, assessing the items he’d managed to gather before his mind had caught up with his body. Lambert presses on his shoulders until Eskel obliges and sits on the bed— then snorts when Eskel’s death grip on Geralt’s wrist leads the other witcher to tumble face-first into some pillows. “Looks like I’ll be the one stocking up on supplies. Pretty boy can stay with you while I’m gone, since you two are already so attached.”

Only a year ago, Eskel might’ve worried about jealousy. Now, he sees the satisfied smirk on Lambert’s face, and his only worry is that of an omega letting his alpha out of his sight so soon before a heat. A whine rises in his throat, unbidden, and he feels his face flush with heat. Eskel has never been blatant about his omega status, even within the walls of Kaer Morhen. He’d never been recognized for his designation outside of it, either, save for the occasional slip up during a heat. He is too large, too broad, and too hairy to be a human omega, and his scent is so dampened and twisted by the mutagens as to be unrecognizable to anyone other than his fellow witchers. He’d been trained against giving into the small, innocuous instincts that might give away what he was, and it had _worked_. Until now, that is.

When Eskel raises his eyes from his feet, he sees no reprimand in the eyes of his brothers. He’d known he wouldn’t, but some part of him had still expected it, expected disappointment for failing to suppress his useless urges. Instead, he sees only lust reflected back at him in the wide pupils of his alpha’s eyes, a hunger only barely restrained. A restraint that promised to break as surely as his had. It make warmth twist in his stomach, and his legs shake at the first, faint rush of slick.

Lambert swallows heavily, and presses their throats together to cover Eskel more thoroughly in his scent. “Oh, _omega_. So sweet for us. I’ll be back soon, okay? You work on your nest. Won’t even notice I’m gone.” Eskel disagrees, and tells him as much as he leaves, but Lambert had a point about the nest. Eskel had forgotten it, so caught up in the touch of his alphas and the shock of an unexpected heat.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, Geralt. I’ve never built a nest before.”

Geralt looks awestruck. Or vaguely pained. Or both. It was hard to tell, sometimes, with him. “ _Never?_ ” Eskel cringed. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, just, surely...”

“I can’t bring much with me on the Path. The best I’ve ever done is adding clothes and the inn bedding to my bedroll, and I’ve never built it for _partners_ , just shoved everything in a corner and curled up in the middle to sweat out the heat. I don’t know what to do with all of this. I haven’t even _seen_ a proper nest since before the sacking, Geralt, fuck.”

The alpha runs his free hand down Eskel’s shoulder, tugging the other witcher close against his chest. “Alright. Okay, it’s going to be fine. I—you’ve _never_ shared a heat? Fuck, that doesn’t matter. Except it does, but, fuck—I don’t know, isn’t it just, um, instinct?”

“I don’t fucking know! It’s just—if this is the only heat I get I want it to be good, be perfect, but I don’t even know how to nest, Geralt. What sort of omega can’t even nest properly? I—“

“Ouch. Uh, Eskel, you’re. You’re kind of crushing my wrist, omega, please—“

Eskel lets Geralt go as if burnt. “And now I’ve hurt you, too.”

“I’m fine, Eskel, really. But have you thought about maybe _trying_ to build a nest, now that you have everything you need to do it? Maybe it isn’t as hard as it seems.”

“You’re an alpha, Geralt. What the fuck do you know?”

Geralt raises his hands. “Sorry. Yeah. Just—“

“I’m building it. Shut up.”

“Ok.”

“Shut up! Fuck, you were right. How fuckin’ dare you. That instinct thing sounded like bullshit, but you were fuckin’ right.”

“Sorry?” Geralt looks smug, but in a way that is also undeniably _proud_. If Eskel were human, he’s sure he’d be beet red under his alpha’s scrutiny.

Lambert, of course, chooses that moment to return with his armful of jerky and waterskins. He spits out the strap of a satchel he was carrying between his teeth and grins. “Oooo, the mighty White Wolf apologizes. What did pretty boy do this time?”

Eskel growls. It’s never a particularly impressive sound, him being an omega, but neither of his alphas would dare to tell him how _cute_ they find it. “He was fuckin’ right,” Eskel grits out, rearranging pillows on the mattress he’s pulled to the ground. Lambert’s face falls into a pout.

“Aww, really? Are you sure?”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’s been known to happen, on occasion.”

“Oh, sure. On _occasion_ ,” Lambert drawls, smirking.

Their banter is cut off by the heady scent of Eskel’s desire suffusing the room. Lambert hastily finishes piling the supplies against the wall, and closes the heavy oak door of the room (Vesemir was sure to be pissed if they didn’t at least make a token attempt at propriety). Geralt strides over to kneel at the edge of the half-made nest, watching in wonderment as Eskel shifts blankets and furs with singular purpose. The omega is panting with the sudden influx of arousal even as he struggles to finish arranging the bedding to his liking, draping a large bear pelt across the side with particular artistry.

Finishing, Eskel looks up to see both alphas watching him like cats stalking a bird; muscles coiled perfectly still, their slitted eyes darting to focus on his every movement. Eskel holds their gaze, feeling full heat pull at him like the undertow before a wave. His limbs tremble as he gives in to it, flopping back into the finished, _perfect_ nest. He strokes the soft furs next to him, eyes lidded as he beckons his alphas to join him. Geralt and Lambert _leap_ , and Eskel lets himself lay loose and pliant beneath them like a puppet with its strings cut, purring frantically as Geralt’s hands fumble to unclothe him and Lambert’s mouth nips lovingly at every inch of skin he manages to expose.

For the first time he can remember, Eskel sinks into his heat incognizant of the world outside his nest. Back pressing against soft furs, body cradled by walls of soft brushed wool, and pinned beneath his alphas, his sense for danger finally falls silent. Eyes closed, he spreads his legs, moaning at the touch of firm hands maneuvering his body as they please. He expects his alphas to turn him over, to bend him into presenting and sink into his leaking hole, but instead he feels as his legs being hooked over broad shoulders, as another body supports his back from behind.

Eskel’s eyes fly open when wet heat engulfs the head of his cock. He retakes control of his jellied limbs to peer down at the alpha sucking him off, and groans at the sight of Geralt’s lips stretched wide around his prick. The alpha’s pale hair fans out over Eskel’s broad thighs. The omega tangles his hands in it and drinks in the sight. The boneless contentment of before is gone, replaced by a building heat as one alpha swallows around his cock and another sucks at his neck and gropes across his chest from behind. Eskel can no longer ignore his almost painful hardness, nor the pooling wetness of slick beneath his arse. His breath stutters on sobbing pleas as Geralt hums around his cock, mercilessly providing his omega with both too much and never enough.

Eskel trembles, and then Lambert is shushing him as his hands stroke up his stomach to pinch at his nipples. Eskel arches into the feeling, chasing the sensation even as he hates it, his hole still painfully empty. He has two alphas and they’re _teasing_ him, when they should be filling him up inside, easing away the terrible ache.

Eskel has never felt this drowned in pleasure. He’s never gone into heat with the possibility of it being satisfied. A lifetime of desperation is roaring under his skin, and he’s forgotten anything but the touch of his alphas, and the _lack_ of them where he needs them most. He twists in Lambert’s grasp, legs digging into Geralt’s back as he whines, clawing frantically at his alphas as the wave of need crests over him. He barely feels them nudge him onto his hands and knees, body obeying without conscious thought as they lead it right where it wants to be. Their concerned voices wash over his head unintelligibly as he arches his back, burying his face into the groin of the alpha in front of him. Eskel rubs his cheek against the hard cock of the alpha, breathing in the grounding scent and digging his nails into the flesh of the alpha’s thigh. His lower half is on fire, bare and burning and shaking and empty, and he’s only half aware that he’s babbling something desperate in needy to the other alpha stroking a hand up his spine.

A hand cups his chin and Eskel looks up blearily, his alpha—Lambert—frowning at him in obvious worry. The words that were muddled only moments ago sharpen like he’s just pulled his head out of water, and he catches the end of Geralt saying something, _“—ared a heat before.”_

Lambert is stroking his thumbs along Eskel’s cheekbones, speaking to him more softly than Eskel thought the prickly wolf was capable. “Hey, sweetheart. Hey, now, there you are. Where’d you go there, huh? You’re alright. We have you. Need you to tell us if you’re okay with this, can you do that? This heat seems like maybe it’s a lot more than you’re used to, and if you don’t want anything sexual—“

Eskel tenses, catching Lambert’s hand where it still cups his face and seeking out Geralt’s again behind him. The alpha behind him gently threads their fingers together and squeezes, but he’s quiet, still, and Eskel needs to turn around and know for sure that it’s Geralt, but he can’t look away from Lambert’s face, either. Frozen, like he’s losing a staring contest with a Basilisk. He doesn’t realize how fast his breathing is until Geralt is petting at his ribs and counting breaths for him, and Eskel slumps in relief at the surety of having both of his alphas close and within his grasp. Still... “ _Please_. Want you, please don’t leave, I’m fine, I just, I need—I—“ Eskel squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders curled with shame. He’d never begged before in his life. Not out loud, and not outside the mindless desperation of his spring heats each year. But it was winter now, and he finally had his alphas, and they were _denying_ him. “Please, alphas, please. Please, I’m so—so empty, please—“

“Shh,” said Lambert. “I’m so sorry, Eskel, _fuck_ , shh baby, you’re going to be fine. C’mon, eyes open again. Look at me. That’s it. Geralt, I don’t know, hold him. He’s freaking out.” Lambert tried to get him to sit up, but Eskel wouldn’t—he couldn’t move, he needed— “fuck, sorry again. Okay, you stay just like that. I just meant we’d stay here and _take care of you_ , omega. No one is leaving. Just making sure you’re in the right headspace for fucking, that’s all. _Someone_ ,” Lambert continued, glaring over Eskel’s back to where Geralt was pressed up against his thighs, “Doesn’t know how to use his mouth for anything but sucking cock, and failed to mention that you’ve never actually been partnered for a heat before. I’d imagine it’s pretty overwhelming, after all that time alone, huh?”

Eskel tried to answer but cut himself off with a whine, the awful, painful need taking over again as the fear of abandonment faded. Lambert cursed again, more creatively, only to stop when Eskel started to pull back from the fresh tang of anger in his scent. “Not mad at you! Not mad. Ugh, Geralt, why do I have to give all the speeches, come on!”

Eskel turned his head to see Geralt blink owlishly back at him. “Uh. I. Hmm. Eskel, no one will leave unless you want. Won’t do anything you don’t want. You tell us what you want, we’ll do it. Okay?”

“Huh. Surprisingly coherent, pretty boy. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Lambert, this is about Eskel.”

“Oh is it? I hadn’t rea—“

Eskel clears his throat, annoyance at his alphas’ endless bickering interrupting his spiraling thoughts better than anything else could. “Thanks,” he says, his voice raspy. “I—I want you both here. I want you both to fuck me. I’m horny as fuck and it hurts worse than a ghoul bite so if you could both _fucking get on with it_ ,” he grit his teeth, feeling an all too familiar pang in his guts, “then that’d be great.”

He doesn’t need to ask twice.


	2. Having

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the filth you've all been waiting for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After cockblocking you all for months, I decided to actually finish the fic. Call it, uh, a metacommentary on delayed gratification.

This time, when he is lost to that heady blur of pleasure and desire, it isn't sour need that Eskel feels, but sweet _anticipation_. The omega cants his hips, and, preempting any argument over who gets to fuck him first, swallows Lambert to the hilt. The youngest Wolf groans, leaning his weight back on his heels as he struggles to hold back from thrusting into Eskel's mouth. He really can be polite, when it matters— but an impolite Lambert is more fun for both of them, so Eskel taps his alpha's hip in signal and Lambert gives into his instincts, fucking Eskel's throat in earnest.

Geralt, meanwhile, is ever a conscientious lover, coating a hand in oil despite the slick already dripping from Eskel's hole. He works his fingers in at a maddeningly slow pace, gradually stretching the omega until Eskel is rocking back onto four of his fingers, whining as his arms tremble and give out beneath him. Lambert pets the hair away from Eskel's face, tenderly tracing his cheek with a thumb even as his thrusts quicken towards a peak. Eskel moans around the pain-pleasure ache of his jaw, and Lambert spills over with an answering groan, knot locking behind Eskel's teeth and the salty musk of his spend coating the omega's tongue.

The taste of Eskel's alpha settles his nerves, but his arse aches, feeling empty even around what is nearly Geralt's fist. His mouth is too full to snarl at Gerald to get a move on, but as ever, his mates are fire and ice, and Lambert uses a little of his inferno to hasten Geralt's glacial pace.

"You aren't deflowering some maiden, Geralt, get on with it. I'm literally coming right now and I'm still getting blue balls watching you totter along."

Geralt growled, but his cock swiftly replaced his fingers, and even with his eyes closed in the bliss of it, Eskel could feel Lambert radiating smugness. It was an open secret that Geralt was a bit of a pushover in bed, and Lambert used that to full effect. Eskel, in turn, was unable to resist Geralt's puppy dog eyes, and so Lambert had all of the leverage he needed to boss them around during sex, and more often than not, he did.

(The "not" times were also quite memorable, but that's a story for another day).

Eskel arched his back even further as Geralt finally, _finally,_ began to thrust. The slick, sloppy sounds of a good fucking filled the room, and Eskel, warmth spreading like molasses from his core, melted into the soft furs of his nest with a contented purr. This was better than anything he could have let himself imagine; the stifled, needy sounds of Geralt chasing his climax; the pleased wonder in Lambert's eyes as he dug one hand in the nest and smoothed the other over the planes of Eskel's sweat slicked back; the reassuring scent of his alphas pressed into his skin; the solidity of them pinning him to the nest _he_ had built.

Lambert's knot went down enough to slip out of his mouth, and Eskel was about to whine his complaint when Lambert captured his lips in a kiss instead. Geralt's steady pace stoked Eskel's lust ever higher, and the omega pressed frantically against his other alpha as the pleasure built, desperate for relief. A ghost of the neediness he'd felt before had resurfaced, and Eskel sobbed against Lambert's chest as he came, roughly grabbing Geralt's thigh to keep him inside as he shook through the aftershocks of the orgasm. Lambert pressed the omega tightly between his alphas' bodies as he kissed Geralt over his shoulder, teeth and snarls gentleness into the lazy, tender slide of lips against lips and tongue against tongue. Geralt lost his hold over his moans as he came, and Eskel sighed at the warmth and fullness he had craved for minutes— hours— years.

Eskel slumped in his alphas' hold, letting them dote on him in the brief respite that he got from sitting on Geralt's knot. The white-haired alpha's pleased rumble left Eskel limp and pliable in the soft, drunken glow of having satisfied his alpha, and the tender way that Lambert fed him sips of water and stroked his prick back to hardness left the omega completely incoherent with hedonistic joy. In the throes of his heat, he was far gone into lust and instinct, but for once he wasn't curled shaking around a few worn shirts, but safe in the arms of the two men he loved above everything.

So Eskel let himself drift, enjoying the soft, claiming touch of his alphas' hands on his body, and the way that they were careful not to leave him empty for long. He was distantly aware of his alphas' passing him between them, taking turns filling his needy hole, but each time one of them pulled out, he still whined and pushed his face into the nearest scent gland, desperate to prove to himself that they were really here, that he was safe, finally safe, protected by his alphas and the walls of the keep that they'd made into a home after all these long years.

Eskel knew, on some level, that he was being unbearably needy. He had never been so greedy before, so wanton. Never so badly had he lost all control, and he said as much, garbled confessions of old, festering guilt against the skin of one of his lovers as the other took him from behind. All of his desperate apologies were gently brushed aside with the tears from his cheeks. They held him until the heat became unbearable, and then Lambert gave him what he needed while Geralt pressed Eskel's cock between his thighs and urged him to take his pleasure until, finally spent, he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

…

The following days were easier, with the urgency of the first day fading as the omega's instincts calmed at the constant presence of his mates, holding him close and smothering him in their mingled scent. Being bitten again, this time during his heat, was a revelation, Geralt and Lambert each claiming their side of his throat and latching on hard, leaving Eskel panting and overwhelmed between them. The heady feeling of _belonging_ to his alphas, and they to him, stoked his lust even higher, but now with less of the doubt he had felt before. He took his pleasure more actively, sometimes, snapping at the mate he was coupling with to hold still as he fucked himself on their cock, or biting his own marks down his alpha's throat while splayed open beneath them.

The alphas' rut had hit in full, and they were just as desperate as Eskel, one fucking the other as he fucked their omega until all three mates worked up the nerve for Geralt and Lambert to try penetrating Eskel together. Eskel was more than pleased with this development, keening and clawing at his nest as his two lovers cradled him between them and pushed him to his limits, muttering soothing nonsense until his body surrendered to both of them, the slick heat of his hole gripping tight and velvet soft around them.

The next challenge was working him up to take both of their knots. He begged for it, even knowing it was impossible, but eventually determination and Geralt's neverending supply of lube payed off, and Eskel lay overwhelmed and panting, legs shaking and splayed wide as his alphas purred and licked soothingly over the bites they'd left on his neck, gently rocking into him to watch the way that he shivered and squirmed at the too-much sensation of having both of their knots locking him in place. Eskel couldn't have moved if he wanted to, but he _didn't_ want to, content to let his mates take care of him. In the haze of his heat he thought that he wanted to be like this always, moving only at his alphas' pleasure, stretched wide and wanting from everything they would give him, eating morsels from their hands even as his skin burned for their touch and he cried for their knots.

But it didn't last forever, and that was just as well. There was a soul deep satisfaction in the end of the heat. Waking from the last, mind-blowing round of heat sex, Eskel stretched and looked at his mates still snoring and curled around him in his— _their_ — nest. In the afterglow of the first heat he'd ever enjoyed, Eskel felt content in a way he never had, as though he'd finally settled into his own skin after years of walking just outside it. Eskel sighed, a long sigh of relief and pleasure and love, all intermingled, and fell back asleep in the arms of lovers he never dreamed he could have.


End file.
